


Wings Level

by talkingtothesky



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e10 The Devil's Share, Episode: s03e13 4C, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-11 16:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19542934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/pseuds/talkingtothesky
Summary: Harold had thought he knew practically all of John’s scars. He has never seen this one before.





	Wings Level

**Author's Note:**

> Content note: Some description of blood which might make you feel queasy. If you've seen Devil's Share, you know what to expect.

Having returned to the safehouse, Shaw helps Harold cut John out of yet another ruined suit, redoing the torn stitches on his abdomen. Now that John’s condition is less critical, she has stepped out for a while. John’s bare torso is partially covered by two square bandages, some bruising. His face remains alarmingly pale. Harold hopes John’s mind is blank, that he isn’t reliving anything in sleep.

John’s hands had been dripping with blood as he faced Quinn, enough to prevent the gun firing. Harold had wrapped them in scarves as a temporary measure while moving him. Harold unwinds one now. John’s left hand has dried a dark red, the worst of the mess adhering to the fabric. Harold’s scarf goes into a plastic bag to be disposed of later. Harold holds onto John’s limp forearm and sponges away the flaking dried blood, rinsing in a basin of warm water on the metal cart beside him. He precisely blots in their tracks any pink trails of water which try to escape toward John’s elbow. Switching to wet wipes for John’s knuckles and between his fingers, Harold turns him this way and that as necessary. Pressing more firmly at a particularly stubborn black patch, Harold is perplexed when it doesn’t budge, not even for soap and water. It takes him a moment to realize it’s not encrusted dark blood, but a mark.

Harold had thought he knew practically all of John’s scars. He has never seen this one before. Either side there are barely discernible tan lines, where John’s watch strap usually fastens. Harold remembers leaving John’s watch close to hand on the same wheeled table he’s currently using. He last saw it before Carter’s funeral. It’s not there now.

He pushes himself out of the chair with a groan, to turn and look at John’s wrist from his friend’s perspective. It’s smaller than the width of two fingers, inked on John’s pulse point. A beak, a tail. Two wings outstretched in flight. John has a tattoo of a bird. Which he has kept hidden, and paid for in cash. Otherwise Harold would have noticed something on his accounts.

He feels his throat close with rising emotion, coughs to clear it. Harold is very good at compartmentalizing. Turning John’s palm down to re-conceal his discovery, he regains his seat and focuses on carefully cleaning under John’s fingernails with a tool designed for the purpose. It reminds him of motherboards, the stillness required. Easy steps, stretching out in front of him. Working finger by finger, then toweling him dry. Moving round the bed and starting over with John’s right hand, the one which had held the gun, and the bloodier of the two.

Perhaps he ought to find the task gruesome, but it’s somehow the opposite. Sun shines through the windows, warming Harold’s aching back, and John’s otherwise undamaged skin is revealed, little by little. Harold is pleasantly surprised that none of John’s knuckles sport even a graze. It gradually becomes a soothing process for Harold, restoring John to normality. Until the moment Shaw returns to get John into a t-shirt and announce a visit from a doctor, Harold is dozing in the chair with both hands on John’s arm.

~

Harold sits down at his table knowing this may be the last time they see each other. Harold will pretend to read the paper, John will look at him forlornly, and they’ll go their separate ways.

Instead, John requests new suits. Seven hours later Harold is watching John watch pappagallini flitting between trees in the gardens of Villa Torlonia. Perhaps now would be the time to ask.

“Thinking of acquiring a hobby, Mr. Reese? I can lend you some books.”

“What? No. Birdwatching’s your area. I was just -” They duck to make way for a colorful airborne passerby. John smiles. “Pretty.”

“Indeed.” Harold squeezes his hand.

It takes John a moment to recognize Harold has taken it. They have encountered only two other visitors in this secluded park, and none nearby, so there’s no concern at being seen. While John is processing, Harold undoes his watch strap with very similar sleight of hand as John uses to pick pockets. He’s a good teacher.

“Given that you have no particular interest in ornithology, I’m curious as to the meaning of this.”

John frowns at the tattoo Harold is showing him, then meets Harold’s eyes. “How long have you known?”

“Only a few weeks. You were in a bad way.” There’s a pause in which Harold worries he has made a terrible mistake. Especially given John’s fundamental respect for Harold’s own privacy…

“It means you.” John admits. “Keeping me alive.”

The warmth of the Italian sun is nothing compared to the love in Harold’s chest. He pulls John into a tight hug. Or rather, Harold clings, but John’s arms encircle him with a gentleness which suggests John considers Finch as fragile as his namesake.

“When did you get it done?”

“When we got back from Owen Island. You flew through that storm to save me. You did it again, yesterday.” John’s fingertips trace the nape of his neck. Harold moves back just far enough to kiss him.

It isn’t their first kiss. Their first kiss was last November, John’s loft, decommissioned components of a bomb vest on the table beside them. Next morning, John had given him an easy out: adrenaline. _Let_ _’s not speak of this again_ , Harold had said. _Don_ _’t mention it._

This afternoon, he begs “Don’t go.” They stay in the garden until closing time.


End file.
